Blood Legacy
by Smitty
Summary: A sequel to The Long Halloween and Dark Victory, introducing Batgirl and the Black Canary.
1. Part One: Halloween

_Disclaimer: This story is a work of fanfiction. I do not own the recognizable characters or the situation set up by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale in __**The Long Halloween**_ and _**Dark Victory**_. These belong to DC/Time Warner. Teresa Gazzo and assorted gangsters belong to me. I am making no profit from this venture.

Continuity: Follows _**The Long Halloween**_ and _**Dark Victory**_

Rating: PG-13 

Author's Notes: This story was conceived as a sequel to the Batman stories, _**The Long Halloween**_ and _**Dark Victory**_ written by Jeph Loeb and illustrated by Tim Sale. In the same tradition as the originals, there will be thirteen parts, one issued each month, starting and ending on Halloween. The posting dates will follow. 

This story follows the assumption that this story is set as an Elseworld. It contains **MAJOR SPOILERS** for _**The Long Halloween**_ and _**Dark Victory**_ and reading them both before reading this story is highly recommended. 

Many thanks to Kerrie, Chicago, 'rith, A.j. and Recce for helping me with this story. 

**Blood Legacy  
By Smitty **

**Part One: Halloween **

* * *

** Gotham City: Bruce Wayne**

_I believe in Gotham City._

But I've misplaced my faith before.

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Towers**

"It's hot. But not as hot as the night Johnny Viti got married."

The sounds of Cecilia Gazzo's coming out party faded into the background as Bruce Wayne recognized the words. He turned on the heel of one six-hundred dollar loafer, Selina Kyle's name on his lips.

"Don't you think, Mr. Wayne?" the blue-eyed woman finished, lifting her glass to her cherry-glossed lips as Bruce's words died in his throat.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Bruce said evenly, shuttering away his disappointment as he catalogued the woman's features. "You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours."

"I'm Dinah Lance," she answered, holding out one hand. "I've been wanting to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

Dinah Lance wore her beauty in the understated style of Bruce's mother. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her ears, nearly hiding the small gold and pearl earrings that matched the string roped around her neck.

"Rumor had it you married Larry Lance," Bruce said, bringing her unadorned hand to his lips. "And yet you don't look a day over…twenty?"

"You're thinking of my mother, Mr. Wayne. Larry was my father."

"It's Bruce. And I'm pleased to hear you're single."

"I didn't say that…Bruce." Dinah gave him a smoky smile as she glanced at a tall, blond man standing at the bar. "But now that we've met, I do hope you'll call. I've been hoping for your help in a matter."

Bruce followed her gaze to see rival industrialist Oliver Queen talking to a woman he didn't recognize. He tried not to let his face show his disapproval. A few years older than Bruce himself, Queen had made himself a name as a rather disreputable playboy. He was at least ten--maybe more--years older than Dinah Lance appeared. Still, he funneled a lot of money into charities and had quite handily beat Bruce at an archery match set up to raise money for orphans. That didn't make Bruce like him any better.

"I'd be delighted," he assured her. "Lunch tomorrow? I'll pick you up at one."

"I'll meet you," Dinah countered.

"Chez Dominae?"

"The Plaza."

"I look forward to it."

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Wayne."

"The pleasure's all mine, Miss Lance."

She smiled over her shoulder as she walked away. Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and resolved to find out more about Ms. Dinah Lance.

"What's taking him?" nine-year-old Dick Grayson demanded, rolling to his knees on the front-most seat in the passenger area of the limousine and thrust his face through the open window separating him from the taciturn driver.

"Any number of things," Alfred Pennyworth replied serenely. "Do sit down. I fear the effect of your tennis shoes on the upholstery."

"What kind of things?" Dick asked, squirming into a sitting position, but not turning around. His dirt-encrusted shoes scraped along the front edge of the seat, leaving dusty particles in the deep nap of the plush.

Dick could almost feel the disapproval riding through the window in waves. He didn't care. After nearly a year, he should be used to it. Besides, Bruce _had_ promised to be out of the party by eleven, so that Batman and Robin could hit the rooftops by midnight.

"Business talk, perhaps. Dancing."

"With girls?" Dick interrupted disgustedly.

"One does usually dance with girls," Alfred acknowledged.

"Ew. He's not going to bring one home again, is he?"

"One can only hope," Alfred said dryly. 

"Not the one he brought home last time, though, right? The one with the silly name?"

"Miss St. Cloud will not be returning to the Manor, no small thanks to the frog incident," Alfred assured him, glancing up in the mirror to see Dick squirm. In truth, it was not the appearance of the frog in Silver St. Cloud's purse, but Bruce's completely unapologetic and unrestrained laughter which followed its debut. Alfred was not about to let that fact be known to Dick. A little well-placed guilt could go a long way toward encouraging proper behavior. "Your impatience has been rewarded," he announced a moment later. "Master Bruce is approaching."

Dick scrambled back up to his knees as Alfred exited the car and walked around the side to hold the door for Bruce.

"Hi, Dick," Bruce said, ducking into the car and pausing while Alfred closed the door. "Anxious to get out?"

"Alfred wanted me to sleep," Dick complained. 

Bruce glanced up at the rearview mirror to meet Alfred's disapproving glance.

"You should get a few hours before we go out," Bruce agreed. "Especially when you need to be up early the next morning."

Dick slouched into a position of youthful sulk and Bruce leaned back in the seat.

"To the Cave, Robin," he said softly as Alfred started the motor. "We have some people to investigate.

* * *

**Gotham City: The Plaza Hotel Cafe**

"My father was murdered."

Bruce rolled his water in his mouth as he absorbed Dinah Lance's blunt statement.

"I heard his death was ruled an accident."

"He was found with a knife in his back on a deserted wharf. Since when it that an accident?"

"Maybe he was mugged. Gotham's streets are dangerous at night."

"He was working for Terry Gazzo. Terry took over Bobby Gazzo's empire and is trying to spread the business to Gotham. Dad was looking into some of the Roman's legitimate holdings to determine whether the business can be liquidated."

"Is Mario Falcone willing to sell?"

"Mario wants the business gone. He's already dismantled the illegal activities. You want to know what I think?" Dinah leaned forward. Light glinted off the fork she twirled in her fingers. "I think Terry Gazzo has sticky fingers and Dad found out about it. I think he learned something ugly and Terry decided he was too dangerous to have around."

"Are you a detective, Miss Lance?" Bruce asked, steel edging his light tone.

"I'm the daughter of a detective, Mr. Wayne," Dinah said over her water glass. "Which could be considered the same thing."

"And you think Terry Gazzo's responsible?"

"He was investigating Gazzo business interests in Gotham when he died."

"Terry Gazzo's father ran the Metropolis Mafioso," Bruce pointed out. "Why was he working for him?"

"Terry claims to be taking the family business legit," Dinah countered. "You should know that. Wayne Enterprises has a meeting scheduled next month."

"Of course I know that." Lucius must have set it up, Bruce realized. Less time obsessing over Gotham's criminal element. More time paying attention to his father's business.

"If you knew that," Dinah said simply, a smirk on her pretty face, "then you should also know that Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys. Teresa Gazzo's a woman."

* * *

**Metropolis: Teresa Gazzo's Penthouse**

"I want to meet with Oliver Queen," Teresa Gazzo told her secretary. "Sooner, rather than later."

"Yes, ma'am. You're due to meet with Bruce Wayne in Gotham City on the 16th of September. Do you want to reschedule that?"

"Yes. Queen first. He's a social creature. New money. Much more open to changing practices." Teresa slouched down on the leather sofa in her office and kicked her feet up on the back. "Wayne had some connection with Falcone. I want to find out what that was before I speak with him. Did Cecilia have fun the other night?" she asked suddenly, sitting up and looking at her assistant.

"Yes, ma'am, I believe she did. She danced with several men."

"Did she go home with any?"

"No, ma'am. Mr. Viti performed his duties per your instructions."

"Good. Anyway, as I was saying. Wayne's a wild card. He has connections but doesn't behave as expected." Teresa tapped one brick-painted nail to her lips. "He has a secret."

* * *

**Gotham City: Batman**

_I believe in Jim Gordon. When other truths have failed, Jim Gordon has remained steadfast. Honest. Jim Gordon will tell me the truth._

* * *

**Gotham City: Police Headquarters**

"Tell me about Larry Lance."

"Lance? He was a cop, long before I got here." Gordon's smoking again. He stopped for a while, but the bite of the first cold night in September drove him to touch the lit end of a match to one of the cigars in the back of his desk drawer.

"Honest?"

"Far as I know. Left when Loeb took over. His partner, Drake, retired at the same time." Gordon took a deep drag of smoke. "You know, his wife did just as much private investigation as he did."

"Could he be bought?"

"By the families?" Gordon shook his head. "Anything's possible. I didn't know him well. But he seemed like a good, solid family man. Maybe if there was financial trouble." Gordon shrugged. "His death was ruled an accident, you know."

"I know."

"You don't think it was."

"Do you?"

"Dinah Lance doesn't think it was."

"Dinah Lance is a nineteen-year old girl who just lost her father."

"I think he was murdered."

"So do I."

* * *

**Gotham City: Cathedral Square**

Aristedes Monroe sipped his single malt as he looked out over his city. The ice clinked in the glass as he set the crystal tumbler on an end table. His father's city. And now he was its District Attorney. He would decide who would walk its streets. Who roamed its alleys. He would decide who was welcome in Gotham City. His city.

* * *

**Gotham City: The Roycemore Hotel**

He's been living in fear. First his brother, then his sister. They were both dead. He'd burned the house, but he couldn't be sure he'd burned the family legacy along with it. He took another drink and checked the deadbolts.

Mario Falcone would go to bed, but he wouldn't sleep tonight. 

* * *

**Gotham City: Jim Gordon**

_ My little girl's growing up. It seems like only weeks ago I was signing the adoption papers, cursing my brother and his drinking habit that deprived Babs of her natural parents._

But I wouldn't trade a second of the time she's been with us. 

* * *

**Gotham City: Gotham City Library**

Barbara Gordon studied her reflection in the ladies room mirror and tucked her hair behind her ears. She picked up the dark hood she'd stitched to go with her costume for Bruce Wayne's Halloween costume ball and pulled it over her head. She lifted her head and her eyes widened in surprise. Barbara Gordon, mousy librarian and overlooked bookworm was gone. In her place, Batgirl gazed coolly out of the mirror.

* * *

**Gotham City: Sprang Expressway**

Bruce Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he roared down the Sprang Expressway, guiding the car with one palm on the wheel.

Another late night at the Wayne Foundation and he was going to be fashionably tardy to his own party. He hoped Alfred hadn't arranged for a date. Or, he thought with a wry twist of his lips, maybe Dick could entertain whatever socialite had been invited.

He'd checked the guest list to make sure Ollie Queen had received an invitation. Even if he didn't have anything to tell her in regards to the Gazzo's operation--nothing Bruce Wayne would know, at least--he wasn't averse to seeing Dinah Lance again.

He was still mulling on this when something hit the windshield with a splash and Bruce found the steering wheel clenched between both hands. The elegant car jerked to an immediate halt, snapping Bruce forward in his seatbelt before slamming him back against the luxurious upholstery. He blinked, shaking his head against the deep plush, grateful for the extra padding against his back. One hand scrabbled against the cool metal of the fastening, unbuckling himself as his other hand tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge. Door unlocked, handle functional…Bruce glanced at the windshield and saw it covered with white webbing. He raised his eyebrows and put his shoulder into the car door, using his weight to force the mechanism.

The door gave way, but it wasn't from his weight. Hands grabbed him, closing over his shoulder, tugging at his jacket as they dragged him from the car. Bruce stumbled to get his feet under him, tilting his head back to see large green rubber heads crowning his attackers. He gauged their strength and purpose as he situated himself in the best defensive posture he could summon without betraying his training.

It wasn't unlikely for someone of Bruce's wealth to have self-defense training but it was extremely unlikely for one of his contemporaries to possess his level of skill and acumen. He had to restrain himself to the basics, unless loss of life was imminent. 

He was saved from his own excess of ability by a woman's voice calling from a distance behind him.

"Run, Mr. Wayne! I'll handle these thugs!"

Bruce felt the twin grips on his upper arms slacken as he twisted his head around to see a lithe shadow with yellow gloves, boots and emblem tumbling at him. 

"Who's that?" he heard one of his captors ask.

A twist of his body and Bruce was free. He dove for the front seat of his car, grabbing his briefcase as he slid across the bench seat and muscled his way out the door of the other side. A lucky break. It would give him a chance to change into the Batman suit without being observed by his captors or this new "Batgirl" who had shown up. He had serious doubts she was as good as she seemed to think she was. 

Hidden by the foliage at the edge of the woods, Bruce popped open the briefcase and released the secret latch in the lid. The false top popped out, gray material spilling out. He changed quickly, adjusting the gauntlets and cowl as he kicked the briefcase under some shrubbery. With some luck, neither Batgirl nor the criminal masterminds in their Halloween gear would connect the appearance of Batman with the disappearance of Bruce Wayne.

He arrived at the scene of battle just in time to see Batgirl ensnared in the gooey mess that had stopped the Rolls Royce. 

Batman descended on the goon who had thrown her into the car, his fist connecting with the rubbery carapace of the goon's mask. It was a hard blow, but the empty cup of rubber along with the shielding in his gauntlet absorbed a large amount of the impact to his knuckles. The man stumbled back and then with a jerk, zipped upward into the air. Batman narrowed his eyes at the escape, his sharp senses detecting a think wire dragging the moth-man upward.

"He's getting away, Batman!" 

Batman turned to see that "Batgirl" was still stuck in the webbing surrounding his car.

"No way to do that now," he growled. Reaching into the tangle, he snugged one arm around Batgirl's waist and pulled her from her trap.

"Batman," she gasped as he detached her, "Bruce Wayne is in danger. Killer Moth is bound to try again."

"I'll take care of Bruce Wayne," Batman said, setting Batgirl down and filing away the name of their attacker for later use. "But who are you? And what do you think you're wearing?"

"I was going to Bruce Wayne's Halloween party," Batgirl explained and suddenly Batman realized he knew her voice from somewhere. Where, he wasn't quite sure, but he definitely knew it. "But I can't now," she was saying. "My costume's a mess. As for my secret identity…" she tilted her chin up challengingly, "I'll exchange mine for yours."

"No," Batman said flatly.

"I didn't think so," Batgirl returned. "In that case, I guess I'll…um, see you around?." She waved one gold gauntlet nervously and ran off through the clearing.

Batman considered following her, but discarded the idea. If she intended to continue this charade, he'd no doubt encounter her again. In the distance, he heard a car start and decided she was most likely gone. He turned his attention to the matters at hand.

The car was a mess, Bruce decided with disgust, locking the doors and making a mental note to go out the next day with Alfred and clean it up enough to drive it back to the manor. Or maybe he'd make it Dick's project for the day. Dick would probably like that sort of thing.

As it was, he was seriously late to his own costume ball, he realized as he trekked through the woods. Alfred was going to give him hell in his own refined, civilized way. At least he had an excuse not to be wearing the ostentatious Elizabethan royalty garb that Alfred and Dick had chosen for him in his work-induced absence. He allowed a ghost of a smile to waft briefly over his features as an image of himself dressed in the Batman costume in front of his guests entered his mind. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head and entered the Batcave through a hidden remote door. He stripped off the suit carefully, laying it out for Alfred's attention later. He made sure to collect some of the sticky strands in a tube for later inspection. Alfred's efficiency would not doubt render the costume impeccable before morning and he wanted to preserve a sample for inspection. But that could wait until later. 

Bruce showered quickly and dressed in the suit and tie he kept downstairs. He brushed his hair carefully, hoped no one noticed it was wet, and skipped briskly up the long, winding stone staircase to his study. 

The clock swung open and Bruce stepped into the room in time to hear the main door close. His eyebrow shot up. Alfred? No, he'd be too busy running the kitchen, unless he'd gone downstairs to look for Bruce. If that were the case, Bruce thought dismissively, Alfred would have announced himself. Dick? A curious--and nosy--guest? Alfred kept the door locked during parties. Bruce frowned. Who had been snooping?

He stepped into the hall, making certain the door was secured behind him and scanned the passageway. He was alone. Sounds of the party wafted from the back of the house. Bruce straightened the lapels of his suit and strode determinedly toward the gathering.

The ballroom was sparsely populated, though the buffet was decimated, and Bruce saw no sign of Alfred. He continued through to the well-lit patio where people mingled in the unseasonably warm night and sipped drinks provided by the roving waiters or the white-draped bar set to the side. Bruce scanned the crowd, recognizing most of the visitors within their guises. His gaze settled on a dark-haired woman dressed in flowing pink chiffon. The most likely candidate for snooping and standing all by herself. As he stepped into her peripheral vision, he realized her headdress was that of Maid Marion and bowed slightly.

"Where's your Robin Hood?" Bruce asked, lifting the back of Dinah's hand to his lips.

"He's getting the champagne," Dinah answered, her expression grave. "I see Teresa Gazzo's here."

"She's offered Wayne Enterprises a very lucrative deal," Bruce said mildly. "It would be rude not to invite her."

"Be careful, Bruce," Dinah warned, her blue eyes finding his. "I don't want you to end up with a knife in your back."

"I appreciate the warning," Bruce replied, "but--"

He was cut off by a high-pitched scream.

"Something wrong?" he asked rhetorically, moving toward the enlarging cluster of guests.

"OLLIE!" Dinah pushed past him suddenly, diving through the crowd. The throng of people swallowed her petite body instantly. 

Bruce pushed his way to the front to see Dinah Lance clutching Oliver Queen's head to her shoulder, her terrified eyes fixed on the knife protruding from his back.

**TBC on November 28 **


	2. Part Two: Thanksgiving

_**Blood Legacy  
By Smitty **_

**Part Two: Thanksgiving **

* * *

**Gotham City: All Saint's Cemetary**

The rain poured onto and over dozens of black umbrellas, soaking the sky, the ground, and all the mourners in between.

Oliver Queen was dead.

Bruce Wayne had an airtight alibi for the precise time of Queen's murder--he was with Queen's latest girlfriend. The Gotham gossip mills were well-greased and full of chaff. Speculation was heard as near as the gardener and as far as Metropolis.

Bruce stood stolidly next to Alfred, dressed in his black suit and holding his black hat as Oliver Queen was lowered into the ground. They'd instructed Dick to stay in the car, to spare him the whispers as well as the rain.

He could see Dinah standing near the front with her mother. The elder Dinah Lance was still slim and dark-haired, Bruce observed. A fairly large assortment of other women were in attendance, he noted wryly, many whom he recognized as Gotham or Star City socialites. There didn't seem to be any family.

"And so we commit the body of Oliver Queen to this hallowed ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

Bruce closed his eyes and remembered another day as gray as this, with rain as cold as this plastering his hair to his forehead.

_And so we commit the bodies of Thomas and Martha Wayne to this hallowed ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…_

"Sir?"

Bruce opened his eyes at Alfred's light touch to his arm and saw Commissioner Gordon and a shorter, dark-haired man in a suit nearly as expensive as his own. They each carried an umbrella, shiny with rain, which did not keep their suits from soaking through.

"Commissioner," he said in a voice roughened by weather and the occasion.

"Wayne," Gordon greeted him, removing a soggy cigarette from his mouth and frowning at it. "This is Aristedes Monroe. He's the new DA in town. Wants a minute of your time."

"I thought this matter had been settled," Bruce asked, his teeth set. His nerves still burned from the memories of his parents' own burial. He didn't trust his guard around this man. "I was across the room when Mr. Queen was murdered. I knew him by reputation but was not close to him. I don't know who would want him dead, and I was too far away to do it myself. And I really don't think a funeral is the appropriate place for another interrogation."

"Actually," said Monroe mildly, "I have something else to discuss. I think they're done here. Perhaps you could step into my car."

Bruce cast a glance over his shoulder to see mourners lining up to throw handfuls of dirt or flowers on the casket as it sat in its grave. He nodded curtly to Monroe and walked with him to one of several black towncars. Gordon stayed behind.

"Do you smoke?" Monroe asked, drawing a cigar from his inner jacket pocket as the door was closed behind them.

"No," Bruce replied stonily.

"Mind if I do?" Monroe stuck the cigar in his mouth and cupped his hands around an expensive silver lighter.

"Yes."

"Oh." Monroe raised heavy dark eyebrows and released the lighter cap. It snapped down to extinguish the flame with a metallic click. "One of those clean air people, eh?"

"Something like that."

"Fine. I'd rather cut to the chase anyway. Dinah Lance came to see me yesterday."

Dinah Lance. He'd been hearing that name all too often lately.

"And?"

"Apparently Queen was working on some deal with the Gazzo family."

"Teresa."

"You know her?"

"I'm meeting with her next week. Wayne Enterprises owns some land she's interested in developing."

"Huh." Monroe rubbed his thumb over a large, ornate pocket watch and checked the time. "Miss Lance said her father was investigating some of Ms. Gazzo's potential business interests. Seems to think they're connected."

"What do you think?"

"I think Dinah Lance is the closest thing connecting those two. Those two and you, at least. Said she came to you for help. What kind of help?"

"She wanted me to find out if there was anything illegal going on with Teresa Gazzo's business."

"And you refused her?"

"Yes."

"Even though it might be in your best interest to know if you were getting mixed up in something shady?"

"I don't muck around in my business partners' personal business. If I don't believe in their integrity or if the investigators hired by the board of directors finds something amiss, I don't do business with them. It's not my place to investigate for the satisfaction of private citizens."

"You know you have an obligation to report any illegal activity you uncover, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Mr. Monroe," Bruce said, his eyes on the window of the car. The attendees were straggling back to their cars. An Asian woman walked by, holding the hand of a little boy, a few years younger than Dick. His complexion matched hers, but the hair on his head was as blond as…Ollie's? Bruce immediately filed away the connection and wondered if Dinah knew about the child. He wondered if Ollie himself had known about the child.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"I'm sorry." Bruce's tone implied that he most certainly was not.

"I heard you had another adventure the night of the murder."

"A mishap."

"You car was detained?"

"For a bit."

"And yet…Batgirl?"

"It certainly wasn't a man."

"I see. And the letter you received?"

"I turned it over to Commissioner Gordon. The fiend called himself Killer Moth. Wanted me to pay a hundred thousand dollars to keep it from happening again. Some sort of protection racket."

"Plan on paying it?"

"I was advised not to."

"Very well then. That's all my questions."

"I can go?"

"You may go."

"Thank you." Bruce found the door opened for him and stepped out into the pouring rain.

"Oh, but before you do?"

"Yes?"

"You might want to be careful. If Dinah Lance actually knows what she's talking about, you might be next in line."

"I'll take it under consideration."

Bruce jammed his hat onto his head and took several long, angry strides back to his own car, where Alfred and Dick were waiting.

"Bruce Wayne!"

He turned to see the younger Ms. Lance walking hurriedly toward him, her black dress plastered to her legs by the rainwater. Her hair was curling in the rain, ringlets falling in her eyes.

"Ms. Lance. May I offer my condolences?"

"Do you believe me now?"

"I believed you before," Bruce said mildly. "But I don't make my business decisions on belief. I make them on hard facts."

"Helping me find out the truth is a business decision?"

"It is when it involves sabotaging deals with potential clients or partners. If you'll excuse me."

"Is all you care about making money?"

A question so implausible, Bruce could almost crack a smile.

"On the contrary, Ms. Lance," he said, one foot in the car as Alfred held the door. "I care about a great deal more than money." He slid smoothly into his seat, allowing Alfred to close the door behind him.

Dinah Lance's expression looked downright stormy as Alfred said a few words to her that Bruce couldn't hear. She turned on one heel and walked back to where he mother was waiting. The seams on the back of her stockings were perfectly straight, Bruce noticed as Alfred pulled away. Not too many women could pull that off in the rain.

* * *

**Gotham City: Gotham City Library**

Barbara Gordon pushed a bookcart through the Gotham City library. Her arms still ached from the exertions of her heroic stint as Batgirl.

Batgirl!

The fact that she'd never made it to Mr. Wayne's party was a minor disappointment in the face of her metamorphosis. Quiet, bookish little Barbara Gordon, actually using her martial arts training, actually saving Mr. Wayne himself, and most exciting, actually meeting Batman! Her father had been out when she got home, investigating that awful murder at Wayne's party. The Batgirl suit was hidden in the back of her closet and she couldn't stop thinking about it. No one had known she was Batgirl that night. And it had sure beat shelving books at the library.

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Towers**

"She's late."

As the words left Lucius Fox's mouth, the boardroom doors swung open and the Gazzo entourage entered.

Teresa Gazzo, Bruce realized, was never late. Time stopped and started with this woman, making her 'now' the exact right time.

She might have been forty, but it would have been an outside guess, based on her achievements and poise rather than her toned, curvaceous figure and the lustrous black hair falling halfway down her back. She wore a suit of black wool and an ivory silk blouse, topped by a black and ivory scarf. The skirt fell to her knees revealing long legs in black stockings and black heels. Her face was unlined and her dark eyes were sharp, noting and cataloguing every detail of her surroundings. Her gaze was friendly and open, but far from warm.

"Mr. Wayne." She addressed him directly, snapping black eyes sizing him up as she offered her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Gazzo," he said formally. "Allow me to introduce you to my Chief Operating Officer, Lucius Fox."

"Yes. Mr. Fox has made quite a name for himself in the business circles," Teresa said graciously when shaking Lucius' hand. "And my brother, Robert Jr."

Bobby Jr.'s gaze was far less friendly than Teresa's as he shook their hands and the additional introductions were made. Although the corporate profile listed him as Teresa's younger brother, he looked a good five years her senior. His suit was tailored large, lending him a look of slovenliness.

Bruce felt the skin around his own eyes tighten as he matched grips with the other man. 

"Gaetano Viti," Teresa continued, "my security man."

"A long way from Chicago," Bruce commented, his hand nearly enveloped in Gaetano's meaty fist. Obviously Teresa hadn't meant security in the financial sense.

"I like the East Coast," Gaetano said in an unusually deep voice.

Bruce nodded slowly, noticing that Teresa did not introduce her secretary, a bookish young woman who positioned herself in a chair behind Teresa, stenographer's pad in hand.

"Can I get you anything?" he offered, ostensibly to Teresa, but the offer extended to her guests. "Water?"

"Thank you," Teresa accepted, but the rest merely placed themselves in a quiet circle around her as Bruce's secretary Maggie brought in a pitcher of ice water and several cups. "I'll cut to the chase, Mr. Wayne," she said over the sound of pouring water next to her elbow. "I want to buy the land Wayne Enterprises owns near Dixon Docks."

"We own a lot of land down there," Bruce said mildly.

"Bobby."

Bobby Jr. stood and brought a rolled map from an inner pocket of his suit jacket. He spread it out on the table and sat back down.

Bruce immediately recognized the area highlighted on the city planning chart. A swath a half mile out of the Docks, stretching about seven blocks into downtown Gotham, it was mostly populated by small businesses and churches. Wayne Enterprises owned the western part. The eastern part was owned by money even older than the Waynes'. There was a small Greek deli where Bruce often walked out for lunch when he had meetings at One Gotham Center and a bookstore Alfred took Dick to pick out the nightly bedtime stories. There was an auto repair place owned by a man who had done Bruce more than a few favors with no questions asked. One such favor was parked under the manor, on a hydraulic turntable, awaiting its nightly mission. 

"And what are you going to do with a few blocks of real estate?" Bruce asked mildly.

"I'm going to pay you handsomely for them," Teresa told him bluntly. "And then they'll be mine to do with what I please."

"There are people there who have put their entire lives into their homes and their businesses," Bruce pointed out. "Can you guarantee consistent rent and maintenance of living conditions?"

Teresa watched him as she lifted her cup to her mouth and sipped slowly at her water. She seemed to be gauging his intentions as she set the cup back down and leaned forward on the table.

"I won't have to," she said, snapping her fingers over her shoulder.

Bobby immediately stood again, drawing another roll of paper from his jacket. Without a word, he spread that paper over the map of the Docks. 

The new map showed a very different Dixon Docks. The old churches, brownstones and tiny shops were gone, lost behind a great white wall claiming to hold the 'Waterfront Shopping District'.

"You want to build a strip mall," Bruce said flatly.

"Not a strip mall," Teresa corrected. "This mall will be entirely self-contained. A single building in which one can wander from merchant to merchant without ever stepping foot outside."

"What about the properties that are privately owned?"

"I'll buy them out. They're little people. They'll jump at the sight of the money I can offer them."

"Some of them live there. Some of those businesses are their homes."

"Then they'll find others."

"I'm not sure I like the way you do business, Ms. Gazzo."

"Let's put it this way." Teresa accepted a creamy envelope from Bobby and slid it across the table to Bruce. 

After a moment, Bruce took it, releasing the flap and withdrawing the heavy stationary within. He allowed his eyebrows to climb his forehead as he noted Teresa's generous offer. 

"This is a lot of money," he admitted, folding the contract and replacing it in the envelope. "But what's to stop us from just keeping our land and doing the same thing?" He slid the envelope over to Lucius and folded his hands in front of him.

"You have contracts with the renters," Teresa returned. "You don't have the right to break their leases. Wayne Enterprises played softball and now you're going to get beat." The corners of Teresa's mouth turned up. "But I have an offer for you."

She'd done her homework, Bruce thought disgustedly. If Lucius didn't shut this meeting down soon, he might have to drop his unconcerned air and shut it down himself.

"This offer?" he asked, nodding at the paper Lucius was reading. 

"I'll sweeten the deal," Teresa offered.

She was giving in too fast, Bruce mused suspiciously. She wanted the land badly, but she wanted to make this offer, too. Why?

"I can't imagine how," Bruce said, accepting the envelope Lucius passed back to him.

"I can write you a check for the amount indicated in the letter," Teresa told him, "or I can draw up a contract regarding a reduced sum and the balance made up in investment certificates. This venture is, if you'll excuse the pun, a ground-breaking opportunity. These malls will be the wave of the future. Don't tell me you can't see yourself pioneering a new sort of enterprise like this?"

"I can't see myself knowingly destroying the lives of two hundred people for a bunch of shiny new chain stores," Bruce returned, standing. "Maybe one day Gotham will lose all the character that makes it a unique city, but I won't be the one to sell it off. This meeting is finished, Ms. Gazzo."

"Think it over," Teresa suggested icily, the corners of her mouth tightening into light lines. "You may change your mind after sleeping on it a few days."

"We'll see, Ms. Gazzo. My office will call you before the holiday."

"Well. It's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure," Bruce countered, "was all mine."

Teresa tilted her chin up, gave Bruce's hand a sharp, brief squeeze, and turned on her heel, Bobby Jr., Vito and the secretary scuttling behind her.

"That was a damn good offer she made, Bruce," Lucius Fox said when the door was closed behind them. "You should really think it over."

"She's a liar, Lucius," Bruce said coldly, turning to look out the window. 

"What's she lying about?" Lucius asked.

"I'm not sure about everything," Bruce said, his eyes fixed out on the view of Gotham River. "But I do know one thing. Bobby Gazzo never had any boys."

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Manor**

"Now?" Robin asked, crunched down in a corner of the coat closet.

"Not yet," Batman whispered, hunkering down beside him. "We have to wait until he leaves again."

"We can get them for breaking and entering," Robin complained, squirming. 

"Wait."

They watched the men in green rubber masks and purple suits march through the house and into Bruce's study. The one in the lead had a large orange collar and seemed to answer to 'Killer Moth'.

A gunshot rang throughout the house.

"You killed Bruce Wayne!"

Batman and Robin exchanged surprised glances as a female voice rang out from the study. They ran to the door and saw Batgirl cracking together the heads of two of the Moth Men. A broken lamp lay on the floor next to a third.

"I bet that's not the first time you've fallen for a woman," she cracked.

Robin's face crumpled. "She's messing up our plans," he complained. "And she makes really awful puns."

"Ready Robin?" Batman asked. At the little boy's nod, he yelled, "Go!"

Batman drove his fist into the closest Moth Man's chin, knocking him out. Robin downed another one with a karate chop to the neck and shoved him back into the room. The falling body hit Batgirl behind the knee and she stumbled. Batman locked an arm around her shoulders and clamped a hand over her mouth, dragging her backward into the hall.

In the study, the Moth Men emptied the room, dragging their fallen comrades out the open window. Batman listened until they were gone, then released Batgirl.

"You let them get away!" she shouted, making a break for the study once again, but found a broad expanse of muscle and Kevlar blocking her way. "Bruce Wayne is dead! They killed him! Why didn't you stop them?"

"No," Batman corrected. "Bruce Wayne is not dead." He moved aside and let her run into the study and kneel beside the lifelike dummy Alfred had mocked up for them. "We had Commissioner Gordon tell Wayne not to pay the ransom. We set up this mock-up so we could follow them back to their hideout."

"Oh." Batgirl winced. "I messed up everything, didn't I?"

"Aw, it's ok," Robin told her, grinning winningly. "We'll find another way to get him. And hi. I'm Robin. You have a really great right hook."

The dark cowl prevented Batgirl and Robin from seeing Batman's eyes roll.

* * *

**Joliet, Illinois: Statesville Correctional Center**

Romano Viti collected his belongings from the guard manning the property return. The guard walking him out turned to spit a wad of chewing tobacco in a potted plant while he waited for Romano to sign the release form.

"Got all your stuff?" he asked, though he didn't care.

"Yeah," Romano answered.

"Got someone to pick you up?"

"Cab."

"Ok, then."

The heavy metal gate creaked loudly as it ground open.

"Whatcha going to do without your buddy Skeevers running all your dirty work for ya?" the guard asked, after another spit on the ground.

"He'll be out in six months," Romano Viti said mildly. "Maybe I'll have a job for him."

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Towers**

"I really think you should reconsider, Bruce," Lucius said from behind a roll of map paper. "Look, if you avoided the whole section around the C Building…"

"No, Lucius," Bruce said firmly. "We have an entire downtown area open for growth of this sort."

"But if we put the full weight of Wayne Enterprises behind it…"

"Then we'd be the big bad bullies." Bruce picked up the phone and dialed the number typed in the corner of the cream-colored sheet of paper. "Hello? Yes, this is Bruce Wayne. I'd like to speak to Teresa Gazzo."

"Right away, sir," the harried switchboard operator told him. He waited a moment and then heard another ring.

"Terry Gazzo."

"This is Bruce Wayne."

"Hello, Mr. Wayne. Can I assume this means you've come around?"

"Just the opposite, Ms. Gazzo. I'm calling to reiterate my refusal of last week. I won't let my father's company be party to the deterioration of Gotham's culture."

"Very well," Teresa said, her voice tinged with anger. "But I suspect you'll regret this decision. Have a Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Wayne. It's supposed to be a cold weekend."

"You too, Ms. Gazzo. You too."

* * *

**Metropolis: Gazzo Estate**

"I'm thankful you could all join me tonight for dinner," Teresa Gazzo greeted her guests. "We've been left alone in this world. Our families have been shattered. Our lives have been thrown into confusion. Our birthrights have been forsaken." She looked around the room, letting her gaze rest significantly on each person. "We are all that is left. And we are banding together to create the greatest family ever reckoned with. We are the survivors and we will triumph." She held up her glass. "Omerta."

"Omerta," the others echoed.

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Manor**

"And I'm thankful for the Batcave, and for my costume and for Alfred's cookies and…"

Bruce peeked through his eyelashes to see if Alfred was giving Dick a disapproving glance. He wasn't, so Bruce closed his own eyes again and smiled to himself as Dick's small hand squeezed his.

"…and meatloaf and my utility belt and um, Batgirl, and…"

* * *

**Gotham City: One Gotham Center**

Gordon cupped his hands around the tiny flickering flame the match offered, and held it to his cigarette.

"Got an ID?" he asked tiredly, shaking out the match before it singed his fingertips.

"Armand Lydecker," Lopez reported, looking at Gordon's cigarette tiredly. "Your wife's gonna kill you, boss."

"Not if these things do it first," Gordon replied, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "I left a perfectly good table of turkey. I think deserve a smoke. What do we have?"

"Army Lydecker. Rich boy. Inherited Lydecker Ltd. 'bout a year ago. Sits on the board of Gotham City Bank. Stabbed in the back."

"You're kidding." Gordon dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his shoe.

"I'm not."

"Shoot, Lopez."

"You think we have another one, sir?"

"I'm damn sure of it." 

**TBC on December 25 **


	3. Part Three: Christmas

_**Blood Legacy  
By Smitty **_

**Part Three: Christmas **

* * *

**Gotham City: Wayne Manor**

The snow covered Gotham overnight. Tiny white flakes began glinting in the light of street lamps and automobile headlights just after midnight, dancing and swirling as if choreographed to Tchaikovsky. By the time the sun rose over the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, a fluffy jacket of snow covered the buildings, the walkways, the park benches, and the cars.

Despite having been skating the rooftops until after one--Robin had been retired when the snow began to accumulate--the morning found Dick Grayson out in the great flat stretches of land behind Stately Wayne Manor. In a few short hours, he had managed to disrupt the pristine acres of powdered frosting with snowballs, clumsily constructed snow creatures, and indentations meant to be identified as snow angels.

The boy has had a busy morning, Alfred thought as he warmed milk for cocoa. Nearly as busy as Bruce himself, who had spent the hours since waking methodically studying the offers Teresa Gazzo had made Oliver Queen, Edward Lamont, III, and every other Gotham entrepreneur. How he acquired this information had no doubt skirted due process and was not something Alfred wanted to know.

"Alfred!" Dick burst out, slamming in the kitchen door, dripping chunks of icy snow behind him. 

"Yes, Master Richard?" Alfred replied with one eyebrow raised. He reflected, with a touch of the pride due one who knows the habits of little boys, that Dick had managed to return to the kitchen at the exact moment that the hot cocoa was ready.

"Cool, cocoa," Dick said, taking the cup from Alfred's waiting hand and drinking from it deeply as he tramped wet footprints across the kitchen floor. "Where's Bruce?" he asked, returning to his original mission after sucking up a considerable amount of cocoa. "He's missing all the fun."

"I believe he's a bit preoccupied by some extremely tedious research," Alfred noted. He hesitated to banish Dick--as ordered--to the study where Bruce obsessed over Killer Moth, Teresa Gazzo, and the unfortunate deaths of two local businessmen.

"Oh," Dick replied with a wrinkle of his nose. "Does he need help?"

"I'm sure," Alfred said after careful consideration, "that if you were inclined to construct another snow-person, Master Bruce would surely understand."

* * *

**Gotham City: Lance Florists **

"Di-NAH!"

"I'm right here, Mom!" 

Dinah Laurel Lance stumbled into the main showroom of her mother's flower shop, barely balancing a flatbed of baby poinsettias in her arms. 

"Two weeks until Christmas, Dinah," Dinah Drake Lance admonished her daughter. "It's our busiest time of year and you're out late every night and sleepy in the morning."

"One more flat," Dinah grunted, shifting the box in her arms to her hip. "You wanna get the door for me?"

"I need your help around here," the elder Mrs. Lance told her daughter, moving to the door and resting her hand on the handle, but not opening it. "I know you want to run around and…do whatever it is that you're doing, but at least for the holidays, Dinah…."

"Mom." Dinah propped the flat between her hip and the wall. "I'm looking for Dad's--"

"I _know_ Dinah," her mother insisted, balling her free hand and tucking it under her arm. "But…" She stopped and sighed. "Never mind. Just…I need your help around here for a bit, ok?"

Dinah studied her mother for a long moment and then sighed reluctantly. "Ok. I'll be around."

"That's my sweetie." Dinah Sr. smiled and touched her daughter's cheek. Dinah smiled back and shifted the flat to both hands as her mother let her through the door. "Oh, by the way," Dinah Sr. called as Dinah shifted her load onto a table already covered with tiny poinsettias, "David Knight called." 

Dinah narrowed her eyes as she made a show of fluffing the tiny leaf-like petals of the little plants. Her mother's tone was deliberately casual. Dinah was familiar with that tone. It usually meant Mom had something up her sleeve. And there was a better than average chance whatever was up her sleeve was going to have a direct effect on Dinah's life.

"He has tickets to the Nutcracker."

"Here in Gotham?" Dinah asked in disbelief. "On Christmas Eve?"

"He has some business in town and decided to stay an extra day. He's very excited about the performance. It's really an Event, you know. And…" Dinah Sr. paused significantly, beaming. "He wants you to go with him."

"Mom," Dinah groaned, "David's boring."

"Dinah," her mother scolded, "David's a perfectly nice boy. And smart, too! He's well on his way to becoming just a great scientist as his father."

"His father's boring, too," Dinah muttered under her breath.

"Dinah Laurel Lance!"

Dinah winced. She was in for it, now.

"Ted Knight has been a good friend to me and to your father when…when…" Dinah Sr.'s voice broke off in a gasping little snuffle and Dinah Jr. opened her eyes and glanced over at her mother worriedly.

"Oh, Mom." She dusted her hands off perfunctorily and wrapped her arms around her sobbing mother. "Mom, I'm sorry."

"I…I just…I'm sorry Dinah," her mother managed, brushing away tears with both hands. "I just miss him so much."

"I know," Dinah said, brushing her fingertips through her mother's dark hair, noticing how the lightest touches of gray were wending through the otherwise glossy black strands. "And I'm going to find his killer, Mom. I promise."

* * *

**Gotham City: Batman** _It's quiet. But not quiet enough. I believe in Gotham City. But this city may not be the same Gotham in which I placed my faith years ago._

* * *

**Gotham City: Justice Center**

Aristedes Monroe worked late, as usual. His crystal tumbler of whiskey sat next to a sheaf of newspaper articles on his desk, for once untouched since he poured it.

He flipped to a section in the Gotham City Code, found the statute he was looking for, and jotted its number on his legal pad. Then he lifted the top newspaper article from the stack and checked the date. He rifled quickly through a collection of hastily gathered police reports his paralegal had assembled earlier that day and found one that matched the date in question. He scribbled another note and tapped his pencil slowly on his desk. He meticulously paperclipped the police report and the newsclipping together and marked them as a new exhibit. 

Monroe checked the time on his watch and reached for a quick drink of his whiskey. It was late and he had an appointment. 

* * *

**Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell**

The glitterati of Gotham glittered brightly for the charity benefit performance of the Nutcracker the night before Christmas. Vivid taffeta and silk paired with sober black tuxedos to form gossip-worthy couples. Bruce Wayne was in attendance with Julie Madison, a minor starlet who had done a number of television commercials for Wayne Enterprises. She was beautiful, shiny raven curls piled high on her head and beside her, Bruce was equally resplendent in his favorite of a wide tuxedo collection. They were a pretty pair but the gossip columnists held little hope for the future of the couple. They'd speculated a little too enthusiastically on several of Bruce Wayne's previous romances and came away without so much as a public breakup.

Then again…this always _could_ be The One.

* * *

**Gotham City: Bruce Wayne**

_Julie Madison is a friend. We attended Eton together where she studied acting and dumped me for being a 'shallow wastrel'. Since I took up the reins of my father's business, she's been happy enough to be in my company, although she hasn't said anything about rekindling old flames. It's better that way. She doesn't think I've changed, which makes her an excellent, if unwitting, cover. Besides, there are other women complicating my life. _

* * *

**Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell**

"--speed of light, and conservation of energy says that--"

Dinah Lance tuned in to David Knight's enthusiastic monologue long enough to make sure he was still speaking in technobabble and then tuned back out. Her eyes traveled around the guests, picking out the mayor and young Derek Powers talking to the new DA, Mario Falcone with a woman she didn't recognize, and Teresa Gazzo on the arm of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a square jaw. She noted him with interest, promising to determine who he was and why Teresa Gazzo was interested in him. 

"Dinah? Dinah, are you listening?"

"Hmm?" She turned her attention back to David and gave him her sweetest smile. "I'm sorry, David, what were you saying?"

David beamed at the attention.

"I was just asking if you were ready to go inside?"

"Oh, yes, thank you." Dinah smiled and took his arm, her razor-sharp mind still plotting away.

* * *

**Gotham City: Rogers Yacht Basin**

"Ed's dead."

"Tell me something I don't know." Army Lydecker tipped back a bottle of bitter imported beer and frowned at the label. "Where the hell did you get this swill from?" he asked Warren Lawford. "It tastes like kerosene and my wife's perfume."

"Morocco. Cost me twelve dollars a bottle plus import tax."

"They make beer in Morocco?"

"What do you think they drink there? Cow piss?"

Lydecker eyed the bottle with suspicion.

"That's what it tastes like, all right."

"Gentlemen!" The third member of their party, bespectacled Gunther Hardwicke, pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If you haven't noticed," he growled, "we have a little problem."

"You mean like Eddie showing up with a knife in his back?" Lydecker asked, taking another swig of his beer despite his complaints about its flavor. "Kinda ironic, you think?"

"We don't know that he was going to turn us in," Hardwicke pointed out. "And we don't know that he took the money."

"Right." Lydecker rolled his eyes. "And that little boy Caroline had is really his, too. Pull the other one, Gunther. Eddie was a prissy, neurotic little weasel. Who knows how many people could have gotten on with their lives without him."

"He was a prissy, neurotic little weasel who died without telling anyone where the numbers of our Swiss accounts were hidden." That got their attention, Gunther realized with glee, watching Army choke on his beer and Warren snap his feet off the table and spin in his chair. "So that's why I want to know," Gunther said, eyes gleaming, "which of you killed him?"

* * *

**Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell**

"Time to go in," Bruce murmured in Julie's ear, resting one hand in the small of her back to lead her toward the just-opened doors to the theatre.

"Finally," Julie said as she swept into the opera shell, letting Bruce escort her up the spiral staircase to their balcony seat. "Away from the gossip patrol. So how much do you think my dress will cost by the time all those columns go to press tomorrow?"

"At least three times what I paid for it," Bruce said wryly, holding the curtain for the balcony seat while Julie passed. "Your fashion's good for my estimated net worth."

He stepped in behind her and sat. His sharp eyes tracked the entry of Gotham's elite, cataloging the presence of dozens of well-known names. Lucius Fox was at home with his wife and new baby. Leslie Thompkins insisted on keeping her clinic open Christmas Eve, even though Bruce had archly offered Alfred as an escort. Harvey and Gilda Dent had often occupied the last two seats in the Wayne box but those seats had been empty for several years. Mostly, Bruce used his extra seats to impress visiting business colleagues, but on this frosty bright Christmas, there was no one to be impressed. Unless he brought Julie back to the cold empty halls of Wayne Manor--and he wouldn't, not with Dick scampering about--Bruce would be as alone this night as he would any other.

These lonely thoughts nearly kept him from seeing Mario Falcone enter the opera shell. Bruce's mind immediately cleared and he studied the slim, dark-haired man as he escorted his date through the crowds. He didn't seem particularly interested in socializing, his attention completely focused on his date and the navigation of the crowds. Bruce focused on the date, wondering whose company Mario was keeping these days. Thin, brown hair swept up in a glossy twist, a dress of rich cinnamon brown--unusual in fashion today and elegant. He didn't know her.

"Who's that down there with Mario Falcone?" he asked Julie, who knew everyone.

"Who?" Julie leaned forward and peered through her opera glasses. "Heavens, Bruce, do you have any sense of discretion whatsoever?"

"I've just never seen her before," Bruce defended. "I didn't want to ask her out or anything."

"Well. I don't know her, but her choice of dress is certainly intriguing. I can hardly believe Mario Falcone's showing his face in these parts, what with all that scandal about his family last year."

"He's still pretty wealthy," Bruce said mildly. "Even if he is getting rid of the family business."

"Hm." Julie shifted her gaze to the balconies and let a predatory smile slide over her face. "Dinah Lance is here with David Knight."

"David Knight? Ted Knight's son?"

"Good answer. But I saw the picture of you and little Miss Lance cozied up at the Plaza on the front page of the Gotham Mirror."

"That rag?" Bruce scoffed. "It was a business meeting."

"Of course it was."

* * *

**Gotham City: Police Headquarters**

Jim Gordon was working late again. It was past eight o'clock on Christmas Eve and his wife was waiting for him at home with James and Barbara, who had finished her shift at the library at six. He fingered the pack of cigarettes sitting in his desk drawer, thinking of going up on the roof and flipping on the damned signal. He hated the thing, hated the idea that he couldn't police his own city. 

But the fact of the matter was, Gotham rounded up more crime with the Batman than without and Gordon knew he'd be remiss in his duties if he let one single preventable crime be committed.

That didn't make it easier.

Gordon dropped the cigarettes and slammed the drawer shut. The sound echoed in the empty office and when all was silent again, he stood up and put his coat on, heading resolutely out the door.

"Commissioner?"

He turned, surprised to hear Lopez's voice in the dark office. She'd been working hard since her partner had betrayed them to the second holiday killer. Since the Thanksgiving murder of Edward Lamont, Gordon couldn't remember being in the office when she wasn't.

"Go home, Lopez," he said. "Get some sleep. Have some dinner."

"Were you waiting for the call, sir?"

Gordon let his body be taken by the sigh because he had been, in fact, waiting for a call to report the discovery of another wealthy citizen, stabbed in the back.

"It might not come tonight, Lopez. Tomorrow's Christmas Day."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want to have to leave my family either."

"Yes, sir."

"That's why I'm still here." Gordon sighed and felt in his pocket. He came up with a pair of cigarettes. "Smoke with me, Lopez. We'll give ourselves cancer and then we'll go home and pretend everything's fine."

"Yes, sir."

But she took the cigarette and, snagging her coat off the back of her desk chair, walked outside with him.

* * *

**Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell**

The prima ballerina of the Gotham City Ballet Company, beautifully bedecked as the Sugar Plum Fairy, started her trademark set of thirty-two _fouettes_ when Dinah noticed Mario Falcone's date slip from her seat and leave the theatre, clutching her handbag.

"David, if you'll excuse me," Dinah whispered, slipping from her seat and scooping up her own purse.

David popped up immediately. He might have the personality of a walnut, Dinah admitted to herself, but his manners were impeccable. She smiled stiffly and slipped past him.

Down the carpeted stairs carefully, as to not catch her high heels on her long black dress and Dinah paused at the doorway. She leaned her shoulder against the edge, sidling around to scan the foyer. Empty. 

The ladies restroom was her best bet. Dinah squared her shoulders and walked with forced nonchalance across the plush foyer, her heels sinking into the carpet with each step. She turned right before the coat check window. The sign indicating the ladies room was to her right. She turned to reach for the door when an iron grip clamped over her arm and hauled her into the coat closet before she could scream.

* * *

**Gotham City: Batcave**

"I believe we've spoken about the scaling of the equipment in the past," Alfred Pennyworth said serenely. 

"I'm bored," Dick Grayson answered belligerently, traveling the length of the Bat-computer on his hands. "When's Bruce coming back?"

"Master Bruce will return when his event has concluded."

"Why does he have to go to those things?" Dick bent himself at an angle that looked painful to Alfred and somehow wound up on his feet. He squatted down with his hands on his knees and pouted.

"It is what he believes he must do to protect his identity and keep his loved ones safe," Alfred said calmly. "As long as you are up there, perhaps you could complete a task I have left long since unfinished." He extended a soft white cloth in Dick's direction. "The top of the computer has a tendency to become unforgivably dusty."

Dick bounced off the frame immediately, tucking his knees into his chest as he tumbled toward the dry, cracked surface of the cave floor.

"Sorry," Dick said with a shrug. "I should put on my Robin suit in case Bruce comes home early.

* * *

**Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell**

Larry Lance hadn't raised his little girl to be a pushover.

A twist and grab combination had released the grip on her arm and given Dinah control of her assailant's wrist. Seconds later, she was shoving a much larger body up into the nearest row of hanging coats. The rows of wool and cashmere swung and creaked on their metal hangers as the man's bulk crashed into them. Dinah rotated her palm to get a higher grip on the arm she'd already twisted behind the man and pushed her forearm under her attacker's chin. Enough applied pressure would render him unconscious in seconds.

Something brushed against her cheek, something thin and metal and she tensed until she realized it was the pull-chain for the overhead light. Dinah twisted her head to the side, snagging the chain in her mouth and tugging it down, the metallic tang lingering on her tongue even as the switch clicked and the tiny room was flooded with dim yellow light.

Bruce Wayne grinned sheepishly at her.

"Hi."

Dinah gave him one last shove, pushing him away from her and stepping back, still on the defensive, but no longer threatened.

"Mr. Wayne." She kept her eye on him as he detached himself from the line of coats and carefully straightened his jacket. "You'd better tell me that you thought I was a serial killer."

Wayne looked wounded, but the expression quickly slipped away.

"I needed to talk to you," he said, his voice losing most of its levity.

"I have a phone," Dinah told him with no little amount of incredulity. "My mother owns a flower shop. That makes two phones. And a greenhouse where I can be found all day. What were you doing, just hanging out in the coat room on the off chance I might wander by?"

"I saw you get up," Bruce answered stiffly. 

"You're a really weird guy, you know that, Wayne?" Dinah set her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from her defensive stance. "What do you want to know?"

"You said Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys."

"That's it? That's what you dragged me into a coat closet to talk about?"

"That first night," Bruce repeated, "you told me Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys. Wasn't that exactly what you said? Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys."

"He didn't," Dinah confirmed, her brow furrowing in consternation. 

"Then who is Bobby Jr.?" he pressed. "Teresa introduced him to me as Bobby Jr. Her little brother, Bobby Jr. Looks like your information is a bit faulty, Ms. Lance."

"Bobby Jr. wasn't Bobby's," Dinah explained with a sigh. "I can't believe you're making all this fuss over Bobby," she muttered under her breath before explaining, "His father was Bobby Sr.'s older brother, Tony Gazzo. Bobby Sr. was little Robbie's godfather and when he had his brother killed--"

"More conjecture?"

"Freak yachting accident," Dinah told him, each syllable clipped. "With Tony out of the way, Bobby Sr. was head of the family. He didn't have any boys, and his two younger brothers were offed by Boss Maroni, so he took on his nephew."

"Named after him?"

"Tony Jr. died with his father in the yacht. Robert was the second son." Dinah cleared her throat, watching Bruce carefully, and continued. "They started calling him Bobby instead of Robbie and tacked the 'Junior' on the end to make him sound legit."

"So why didn't he inherit the business? If Gazzo wanted a male heir, why is Teresa running the company?"

"Bobby's a halfwit," Dinah explained, a note of contempt in her voice. "The business was his, but Teresa bought it out from under him. She owns 51 percent of the shares."

"Smart girl."

"Funny how that happens sometimes." Dinah crossed her arms across her chest. "If you're done wrestling the Gazzo family history out of me, I should be getting back to my date."

"I've gotten the information I need," Bruce said as he opened the door for her. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

"Actually, if you're going to go around grabbing people to get their attention, you should at least put your hand over their mouths to keep them from calling for help," Dinah advised as she stepped out of the coat closet. Bruce followed and caught up to her in the main foyer just in time to hear a woman's scream echo from above.

"Isn't that your line?" Bruce asked, in reference to the scream, but he was pushing ahead of her, running for the stairway in the direction of the panicked sound. 

The same stairway Dinah had come down less than ten minutes before.

A couple of the opera hall security guards beat them to the stairs, pounding up ahead of Dinah's delicate heels and Bruce's Italian leather dress shoes.

Dinah's heart sank when she reached the top of the steps and saw the people clustered in the balcony where she had been sitting. Bruce stopped short and she ran into his right shoulder. He stepped aside silently, which should have warned her, but she already knew.

David Knight was slumped forward, the handle of a silver knife protruding from his back.

"Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, David."

* * *

**Gotham City: Gordon Household**

"It's for you, Jim."

But they all knew it was.

Barbara handed him the phone and rejoined Babs and Jimmy at the table. They picked quietly at their cold food and listened to him grunt into the phone.

"Yeah. Yeah. That's--ok. I--yeah. Fifteen minutes, tops." He hung up on the phone and the heavy clank of the receiver echoed into the tiny living room.

"I'll get your coat," Barbara said resignedly.

"I was hoping they'd wait 'til tomorrow," Jim said heavily. Barbara left the room.

Babs reached over and wiped away the gravy dribbling down Jimmy's chin. He wiped his hand in the napkin's wake, smearing potatoes along his still-chubby chin. Babs offered Jim a smile. He returned it tiredly and retreated into the hall where Barbara waited with his heavy winter coat.

"Stay warm," she said stiffly, buttoning it up for him as he pulled on his heavy gloves. She wrapped a muffler around his neck and watched as he settled a cap on his head. "You, too," he said, kissing her before he went out the door.

"How can I?" she whispered to the closed door. "I'm the only one in our bed."

* * *

**Gotham City: Clocktower**

"Look, there's someone on the roof besides Commissioner Gordon," Robin reported, following the Batsignal in to the roof of the GCPD.

"Yes." Batman stopped at the edge of Gotham's high-rising clock tower, holding a hand out to stop Robin's forward motion. "Stay here," he ordered the boy, bracing one foot on the ledge of the roof and throwing the jumpline to a wicked spire on the next building over, angling for a back approach to the GCPD building.

"Aw," Robin protested to the cold night air. "Shoot." One elf-booted foot kicked at the powdery snow building up in the corners of the roof.

"Psst."

Robin straightened and whirled towards the face of the Clocktower, small fists coming up.

"Who's there?"

"PSST. It's me." 

"Who?" Robin's head cocked to the side, his fists sinking as his ready stance relaxed.

"Me, um, Batgirl."

"Oh. Robin peered into the shadows surrounding the walls of the clock housing. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm working on the Killer Moth case. What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for Batman." Robin nodded toward the blinding Batsignal that silhouetted the two, soon to be three, men standing on the roof of the GCPD building. "I make the Commissioner nervous, sometimes. He doesn't think a kid should be fighting crime."

"Yeah, well, you are pretty young."

"I'm not that young," Robin protested, puffing his chest out.

Batgirl grinned. 

"Yeah? How old are you?"

"I can't tell you. It's part of my secret identity."

"Ohhh, I see." Batgirl put her hands on her hips. "So I hear Killer Moth has been sending threatening letters to important businessmen. He wants one hundred thousand dollars from each of them, or he's threatening to kill them."

"Do you think he'll go through with it?"

Batgirl shrugged.

"He certainly tried with Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah." Robin considered this. "Do you think he's the one killing all the millionaires? Oliver Queen and Edward Lamont and now David Knight?"

"No," Batgirl said after a moment, squatting down and wrapping her arms around her knees. "Oliver Queen and David Knight were both from out of town. As far as I know, all the letters have gone to people who live in Gotham."

"Maybe those are the only people we know about," Robin pointed out. "Maybe the police in Star City and Opal have the letters Killer Moth sent to them." He bounced on his toes. "Maybe we're looking at the wrong person for all this!"

"Why? Who are you looking at?" Batgirl wanted to know. "And aren't you cold in those tights?"

"Huh?" Robin looked down at his legs, covered only in flesh-toned leggings under the green shorts. "Oh, no. They're um, made out of this stuff. They're really warm. And there's silk and fleece in the vest. It's insulated."

"Insulated, really?" Batgirl stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "And no ducking my question, Boy Wonder. Who do you and Batman suspect?"

"Well." Robin bit his lip and visibly waffled on the subject. "I don't know that I should say."

"Oh, because Batman said so?"

"Well, he didn't say, exactly."

"It's probably not the same person anyway," Batgirl said loftily. "After all, Killer Moth went after Bruce Wayne with a gun and all the others were killed with a knife."

"Oh. Right." Robin frowned. "We should see who else got letters and see if there are attempts on their lives."

"I can get a list."

"Really?" Robin looked surprised.

"Civilian job." Batgirl winked. "I can get all kinds of info. I can check on the Opal City and Star City death threats, too."

"Cool."

"Hey, if I get that info, can you teach me how to…you know. With the ropes?"

"You mean the jumplines?" Robin could easily get the same information from the Batcomputer--if he could explain it to Batman--but he didn't mind trading the research time for something he liked much better. Flying.

"Yeah. How do you and Batman ride around on them without slipping?"

"Oh, watch. See this…."

* * *

**Gotham City: Gotham City Police Department, Roof**

"So this man just appears on the roof when you turn on the spotlight."

"Be as skeptical as you like," Gordon said calmly, puffing away on his cigarette.

Aristedes Monroe took out a cigar and lit it. He warmed his hands on the tiny gleam of heat and tucked the cheroot into the side of his mouth while he pulled on his gloves.

"Those things will kill you."

Monroe stiffened visibly at the gravelly voice behind him.

"Evening, Batman," Gordon said neutrally. 

"Good evening, Commissioner." Batman stepped partially from the shadows, enough to permit the slightest edge of light to gleam against his costume. He inclined his head. "District Attorney."

"You know Mr. Monroe?" Gordon asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

"Only by reputation."

"In that case, Batman, this is Aristedes Monroe. Monroe, meet our local urban legend."

"Batman." Monroe removed the cigar from his mouth with his left hand and held out his right hand. 

Batman inclined his head.

Monroe dropped his hand.

Gordon chuckled and tossed his cigarette into the snow piled against the Batsignal. It flared in the cold drift and went out.

"I'm sure you've come to the same conclusion I have," he said, smile dying.

"Holiday is back."

"A copycat."

"Knives this time. And businessmen."

"Holiday was Alberto Falcone," Monroe recited. "And Holiday Two was Sofia Falcone."

"Suspects?" Batman's voice revealed nothing.

Monroe and Gordon exchanged glances. 

"We have some ideas," Monroe cadged. 

"Mario Falcone," Gordon said bluntly. "His brother and sister were nuts and we know he burned down the family home last fall."

"Mario Falcone successfully took custody of his brother and is currently dismantling the family's business," Batman gritted out. 

"Maybe he's dismantling everyone they did business with, too," Monroe offered with a sardonic grin.

Batman was silent for a moment.

"I'll look into it," he said.

Monroe glanced over to Gordon. 

"He does your detectives' work?"

"He can get places we can't," Gordon replied, nodding toward the space next to Monroe.

Monroe looked back at Batman, statute and section on the tip of his tongue.

The only evidence of Batman's presence was a single set of bootprints, already filling with snow.

"He do this often?"

"If you're going to stay in Gotham," Gordon said, flicking off the Batsignal and reaching for the rooftop door, "you might want to get used to it." 

**TBC on January 1 **


End file.
